


Worse Things

by big_slug



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Broken Joyce Byers, Broken Will Byers, Child Abuse, Depression, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Dubious Consent, Friendship, Healing, Illnesses, Multi, Non-Chronological, Nurses, Rehab, Self-Harm, Underage Sex, Violence, worst case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-11-07 22:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20824811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/big_slug/pseuds/big_slug
Summary: What if the Battle of Starcourt had taken a different turn? A worst-case scenario for the Byers family.Now with a second, chronological chapter!





	1. Chaos...

**Author's Note:**

> This is very dark, very sad, and non-chronological. If you can put up with that, still read at your own risk.

Streetlights guide him, or misguide him actually, since there are so many and they are on every street. Like a moth he sticks to them without remembering that he must detach himself from their comfort and plunge into the darkness to reach his destination. Will stumbles up and down the cracked sidewalks. _Get away from the lights! They‘re gonna call the cops! Again!_

The house is one of many in a shady suburban area that lies in blackness once the sun has set. Calling it _home _would be wrong. Will calls it _the house_. A place where he can crash when better options aren‘t available or too dangerous because of the state he is in. Unable to stop himself, he all but kicks in the door. „M‘back!“

Thank god for wine and vodka, she has no idea what time it is. Her brain is as mushy as his - small wonder mom recognizes him. Laughter pours from the TV speaker. Her face is welcoming, but her blurred eyes betray her condition. „Sweetie...“ she slurs. „School out already?“

The dark living room spins around Will, the glow of the TV painting psychedelic patterns on mom‘s hollow face. „School...“ Will mumbles. „S‘out. Yeah.“ He trips over his own feet, catches himself by tumbling against the wall.

„Dinner will have to wait until your brother gets home.“

„Mom-“ Nauseating waves, one, two, three... Will holds it together. That‘s rare; He usually lets it happen. She wouldn‘t even notice until the morning. „Mom, please don‘t-“

A shadow falls over mom‘s face. „We will wait. for your brother.“ she says, the cold edge to her voice leaving no room to argue. Will can feel himself falling down this spinning tunnel again, flying away from the light, further, further...

The couch catches his fall. Manic laughter. Mom pointing at the TV screen. „Did you- did you _hear_ that?“

Ted Danson must have said something incredibly funny. Will couldn‘t care less. „M-Mom... s‘there any Aspirin left?“

„_...or like somebody acquainted with the alphabet...“ _says the TV. More laughter. Mom is in tears, screeching, hardly even acknowledging Will. He can‘t get up. Too much... too much... She is emaciated. All those pills.

„_Why can‘t you just be normal again?“ _his mind screams and screams at her. _„Mom, please! Look at me!“_

* * *

Lights flash. No particular rhythm, which makes it all the more upsetting. Will can‘t get them synced with the heavy beat that‘s hammering in his guts. Chopped movements in the nervous strobe-lightning - shadows of limbs on brick walls. His shirt is vomit-soaked. Too hot. Out. _Out out OUT!_

„Heeey! Byers!“

* * *

„Do you sometimes think you should be somewhere else?“

Alex looks at him incredulously. She cocks an eyebrow after a while, grin spreading. „Like in my mansion in LA? Sure.“ Her dirty, tangled and matted hair with its green streaks bobs stiffly as she throws back her head and laughs.

Will‘s stomach makes all sorts of movements that don‘t feel right, has been doing that all day. Last night too. „Not what I mean. I meant somewhere else as in-“

„-dead? Are you too drunk? or not drunk enough?“ she says. „Ah, whatever. Here, time to whip out the big guns.“

Truth is, Will has had more beer than usual, so at least in his mind this night will end with him drinking less of the hard stuff than he usually does. Though he low-key realizes that‘s not how it works; It just means more overall. The first shot is always the hardest. He downs it, grimacing. „D‘you wanna go somewhere?“

Alex‘s eyes scan the dark paneled walls of her living room, flips out a cigarette and hands the pack to Will. „Nah. Not feeling like it.“

Will nods gratefully. It would be too much for him tonight. He is terribly on-edge as it is. The hiss of another beer can opening. „Gotta empty these... right.“ he laughs bitterly. „Give it here.“ Will washes his next shot down with a swig of Bud. Easier that way.

* * *

„F-Fuck off.“

„Man you look like hell!“

  
Ridiculous. Who is Will even talking to right now? _He has to get out!_ Too many people. Too much noise. But the kid waves the gleaming thing in front of his face. Will greedily sucks half of it into his lungs in one drag.

„Yeah, that helps.“ the other one says compassionately. „Keep it, kid.“

* * *

„D-Don‘t make me... don‘t make m-me...“ Sweat. Cold. Sick. But it smells nice in here, wherever he is. All Will knows is, he doesn‘t want to leave again. It‘s a good place.

The voice, all soft and hushed, whispers to him. „Come on, Will. Get your head up just a little.“

Something warm, not too hot, is pressed against his lip. And Will swallows greedily, because it‘s just heaven in his mouth. Soup, maybe. „M‘dead...“

„You‘ll be fine, Will.“ Mrs. Wheeler says, her voice, the voice of a mother, dangerously close to breaking. „I promise. Do you remember how you got here?“

„B-Bus.“ Will stammers. „Bus.“

„Two thousand miles.“ another, way more gruff person says lowly. „It‘s a miracle he‘s alive. You think he can stay with you for a few days, Karen? I wanna move him as little as possible.“

„I didn‘t recognize him... I almost didn‘t- wanted to kick him right back out, I mean-“

„Karen, it‘s alright. I didn‘t either. Kid‘s been to hell and back if you ask me.“

Whenever Will tries to open his eyes, it‘s as though acid has been poured into them. He stops his attempts, shivering under his blanket. Whatever moan of anguish escapes him, he can‘t suppress it.

„Last time I checked he was at 103.5. If it gets any worse, I‘m going to call an ambulance, Jim.“

„Don‘t make me...“ Will repeats, completely clueless as to what it means. A soft, slim hand finds his and presses.

„You‘ll be fine, Will. It‘s just a fever.“

„If it gets worse, let me take him to the hospital. I mean, look at his arms. They‘re gonna ask questions, Karen.“

„Yes, and for a good reason.“ Mrs. Wheeler‘s grasp tightens. „I want answers, Jim. How could this happen? Where the hell is Joyce?“

A flash of light and electricity. Will cries out because it hurts just _so much_. „Mom!“

* * *

_One step after the other,_ he tells himself. _No use passing out now. _Shouts of „Hey, watch it!“ and „Open your eyes!“ follow him where he goes, because Will bumps into literally everyone. An obscene sight, naked bodies on the dirty cement floor moving to demonic screeches of damnation and murder.

_Oh god, where has she taken him? What kind of hell-hole is this? _He needs more pot. Right now, or he‘s going to flip. That little, rectangular piece of cardboard she gave him must have been made by the devil. Pigs tossing their unshapely bodies into the mud all around him. _They‘re going to get you, Will!_

* * *

No one in their right mind would call this a fresh start. But mom isn‘t in her right mind, and won‘t ever be again. Will knows this. Hopper knew it and tried to stop her, but she is, after all, an adult capable of adult decisions. That‘s what he told Will, anyways.

Despite everything they have been through, Will can‘t see how this place could ever be a home to him. Literally the first thing he hears upon stepping out of the car are gunshots and sirens. Is this supposed to be his life now? There is a huge difference between what a single mother, a clerk, can afford in Hawkins and what she can afford in Seattle. _Why Seattle out of all places?_

Worms must have feasted on the wooden planks before Will was even born and the door hangs loose in its hinges, dipping at an angle when Will pushes it open. „Needs a bit of work.“ mom says tonelessly. „Lets get unpacked.“

On the bright side, Will gets to pick his room, and his mom doesn‘t mind him taking the largest one. _The house_ is smaller than their home in Hawkins, but Will gets a bigger room. The price he paid was too high though, and he‘d happily live in a storage closet if he could just make the last month undone.

Clearing the room of spiders and bugs takes time, patience, and about three cans of that stinking bug spray mom‘s new workplace next to the gas station with the barred windows sells - it seems like everything has barred windows in this place. Far from comforting, seeing as this includes Will‘s new school as well. He makes himself invisible.

Mom doesn‘t ask even once. She never talks anymore, except about all these banalities. „_The weather fits the time of year, huh?“ _\- _„Sure.“ _\- _„Cheers is a pretty good show, isn‘t it?“ _\- _„Whatever you say, mom.“ _\- _„These diet pills are working wonders!“_

Will cries himself to sleep most of these nights. He can‘t watch her wash them down with gas station wine.

* * *

All the ups and downs, the most intense moments of the night, they have all faded. Not caring, not seeing, not hearing, is bliss. But it has been like this a few times before and it always came crashing down on Will again in the end, if only at the break of dawn. A temporary fix for a lasting problem.

Who cares? He is floating, jumping from cloud to cloud. Everyone would be smiling if Will could make a headstand. He wouldn‘t get puke on his clothes if he made a headstand. The idea of the night. Headstand parties. Patent applied for. Now, where has he left his shirt? And where has he left Alex?

* * *

Zombie Boy, literally. A cruel twist of fate how two words can change their meaning and still apply. In Hawkins, Will used to be back from the dead. In Seattle, he is dead as far as his peers are concerned. He sees it when he looks into the mirror, too. Lifeless eyes encircled in dark red. One could think he has taken a few punches lately. One could think that...

And for Zombie Boy, there seems to be a Zombie Girl. „I‘m Alex.“ she tells him one dark, rainy October day. She doesn‘t say anything more, but sits opposite to him for lunch. It‘s her that he sees in the mirror as much as it‘s himself, Will thinks. Only, she must be a step further, having embraced the Zombie. Her hair might be dirty-blond, but most of it is green now, standing up unwashed in days-old greasy spikes. She doesn‘t smell good.

„I‘m Will.“ he says after a while.

„Yeah, I know.“ Alex says. „People call you Zombie Boy.“

„Do they call you Zombie Girl?“

„I guess? Whatever. Gonna slice them all up some day. Slit their throats.“

This makes Will smile. Because _why not? _The devil knows there are countless people Will would cut open if he could get away with it.

„Wanna come to my place after school?“ Alex asks him.

Not having to go to _the house _after school? Is this something Will wants? He decides that, yes, it‘s exactly what he has been craving for weeks. There is no one who would miss him anyways, only bad things to be avoided. He nods slowly. „Why not?“

„But you gotta help me with something on the way, alright? I‘m all out of vodka.“

Will gives an absent shrug. Does she want him to drink? „Whatever. Got a fake ID?“ She looks like she could have one.

„Nah. Just more than enough pockets in my jacket. And this if shit gets out of hand.“ Grinning with her yellow, plaque-ridden teeth, Zombie Girl shows off her switchblade knife, a five-inch monstrosity.

* * *

A warehouse. That‘s what this place is, or was back when the world wasn‘t fucked up to the core. The haze lifts only enough for Will to realize again, he can‘t just leave without his shirt. But he needs air. Will steps over a guy in a leather jacket - he looks dead with blood flowing out of his nose - because there, behind that body, is something that looks like a metal staircase.

An old office high above the warehouse, passed out punks on the ground, disgusting, reeking, but there is a window. Will stretches his head out into the chilly night, falls onto the windowsill with no self-control left. Splinters in his chest. This is fine.

* * *

The phone sputters words in Will‘s direction, no more than a mumble-jumble of noises to his ears. He drags on his cigarette in resignation, only to find he is holding no more than a little burned-down bud between his fingers. Methodically, he puts it out in his ashtray-turned Altoids tin. „Sorry, what did you say?“

„We‘re worried about you, Will. Can‘t I come visit you at some point?“

That hopeful tone makes Will sick to the bone. „I mean, I could come visit you if I can come up with the money. for a bus ticket.“ Will explains to his best friend - former best friend?

Mike can be heard sighing. „Hey, I‘ll see if I can send you some. Or if I can get Hopper to pay.“

„Mike it‘s...“ Will fumbles to jam the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can light himself another coffin nail. „...really not necessary.“ The Zippo makes an unmistakable click, and Will breathes out smoke contently. „Really, Mike.“

„If you don‘t wanna see us, don‘t beat around the bush. One word and I‘m not gonna call again.“ Mike spits bitterly. „S‘that what you want?“

It is, in a fucked up, disgusting sort of way. Will‘s forehead crashes against the wood paneling; He is just too weak to keep standing here. Last night is still a murky blur, and even these few flashes of memories will fade within days. „Yeah. Please don‘t call again.“ Will gets out before his knees betray him and falter under his body weight. On his way to the floor, he somehow manages to hang up, but then decides to pick up the receiver again to let it dangle from its cord.

What is left to do than to crawl to his room on all fours, robbed of all dignity, and curl up on the bed to wait out the rest of the day. He has already spent hours eating Aspirin like M&Ms, to no avail, and should he decide to lay hands on mom‘s booze to counter the low, there would be hell to pay. Better not risk it again.

* * *

How long has it been? Three universes must have been born and died, and Will has spent all this time lying on a rough wooden windowsill, humming a nonsensical melody. Nonsensical, but the streetlights outside dance to the rhythm of it, making Will wheeze out painful laughter. Beautiful night. Beautiful, messed up people down below - He wonders if the singer has recovered from the bass player slamming his instrument across the guy‘s head. Skull fracture. Cool. Lots of blood.

* * *

At some point in his life - this is just one of these memories that could be true or entirely made up - Will liked to draw. He tells Alex this one night when she is already only half-conscious. „Y‘know I had crayons n‘stuff.“ he slurs. „For pictures or whatever.“

„M‘gonna shove crayons up your ass.“ she says. „Tryin‘ to sleep here.“

Will‘s grip on her waist tightens as he pulls her closer to him. She stinks, a bitter smell of sweat and sidewalk. By now it‘s a competition - who can go longer without taking a shower? Alex is really taking the cake here and Will loses the game almost every other day. Especially in the mornings, all alone with mom passed out on the couch and nothing to do but lounge in his misery and freeze to death in his overheated room.

„I‘ll paint you something.“ Will says before falling asleep, smiling.

„Shut up, cocksucker...“

Oddly, Will remembers this the next day, sitting with the blinds in front of his window closed, watching dust dancing in the faint trickle of light. He tries; Only to find that his hand is shaking too much to draw a straight line. The pencil tip breaks, Will growls. It‘s like that in school too. No one can read his handwriting anymore. But it‘s too early to call and ask Alex if they can go out to get more _medicine_. Mouthwash doesn‘t work, he usually throws it back up before it can kick in.

He pours what feels like a half gallon of orange juice down his dry throat until his stomach gives him a rupturing sensation, but the shaking won‘t stop. Only when the pencil hovers above his forearm. Puncturing skin with it, a sharp gasp escapes him through a mouthful of sugar. So sweet. Heavenly relief.

It drips out of him, red stains on his carpet - the taste of metal, like suckling on a dime. Fingers now steady, Will composes a beautiful painting of what, a sunset? Yeah, that must be it. All in red. And he will never run out of paint.

* * *

A heavy thump behind him; Heat falls against Will. The heat of skin. „Aww, look.“ the girl coos. A sour stench follows her, but Will can‘t turn around. Lying on top of him, she begins fumbling. „Cutie, cutie, cutie...“ she sing-songs. He lets it happen, trying not to be disgusted, trying to actually enjoy and melt under her touch. „Gonna give your cute little woodpecker a workout...“ a sugar-sweet voice purrs.

* * *

There is no time in this place where the walls are tiled, the bed is just a slab of concrete with a stinking blanket draped over it and the light is white neon shining from behind a barred crevice in the high ceiling. It never shuts off, the hum of static shaking Will‘s body to the core. No one talks to him. He can‘t remember when he last had anything to eat; Surely they want to see him break. But they must have given him something by now, right? He probably just can‘t remember.

„Alright kid.“ the epitome of disinterest says from behind the steel door. It clicks, swings open to reveal the face of a tired officer. „Out ya go, your mother is here.“

„Great...“ Will sneers. Staring disdainfully, he scrambles to his feet, determined not to show how weak he is feeling. The cell has a small step right at the door, no doubt designed to bring one last humiliation upon those held here. Will can‘t remember them searching him, thank god.

Filling out the paperwork with a ball pen shaking between bony fingers, mom won‘t acknowledge his presence. Not at the station, not leading him outside when the officer actually shoots him a pitiful gaze, not in the car that swerves dangerously under her intoxicated control. It must be why she left him there for more than two days. Still not stupid after all those bottles and pills.

Will is most definitely stronger than her, but mom has a way of taking him by surprise that leaves him powerless to her hand entangling with what‘s left of his hair, ramming his face into the wall as soon as the door is closed behind them. Will stumbles. He falls, watching blood sputter from between his fingers clasped across his nose. It will be one of _these _nights. He should have seen it coming.

„It‘s your fault! It should have been you!“ she screams for hours on end, again and again. „It should have been you!“

And she is right. It should have been him.

* * *

„Alex...“

„_Beat my head against the wall one more time!“_

Is Will‘s nose really clogged, or is he only imagining this gasping for air. Air carrying a mix of sweat, puke, cigarette smoke and sin.

„Alex!“

„_Will this solve my problems at all?“_

„Alex!“

She is gone. Gone, and Will is alone. How is he supposed to get out? The ceiling is in front of him! Not where it should be! Rough and wet between his legs - but the girl isn‘t Alex.

„_I don‘t care about parties or a good time!“_

„Mom!“

* * *

„It‘s okay if you don‘t wanna talk about it. I didn‘t either for years, kid.“

Will jerks, startled, dropping his lighter onto the damp forest ground. „Aw crap.“ Is it too much to ask to be left alone for three minutes? Just to stare into the night sky gleaming with tiny little lights between the trees? Apparently. He picks the thing up from the small puddle in which it has landed. No way he is getting fire from that until it‘s dried.

„Here.“ Hopper hands over his own lighter. Will can‘t help his suspicious glance. He doesn‘t reach for it immediately. „No use trying to stop you. M‘not here to tell you off.“

Will eventually takes the lighter, his craving for blue smoke outweighing the discomfort. „You‘re right, I don‘t wanna talk about it. So...“

„Still asking yourself why you‘re here?“

Will nods. „Kinda. I guess it would‘ve been better if I‘d just, I don‘t know. Stayed away.“

Hopper has tried to convince him otherwise too many times to count. The man was a shaky wreck on most of these occasions - obviously it‘s because of the absolute shock everyone suffered when Will showed up in Hawkins completely out of the blue. Not to mention the way he must have looked just knocking on Mike‘s door, half-dead and with a 103 degree fever. Will can‘t comprehend why his throbbing mind decided to bring his body to this place.

But don‘t get him wrong, Will is grateful. Grateful for every warm meal, for Hopper immediately taking him in, for El sharing her room without complaint; The first two weeks will always remain a feverish dream. At least Will can stand again.

„We still gotta get you checked out, you know that. Not taking any risks.“

„I know, I know. It‘s- Hop, I‘m scared.“ Will‘s trembling fingers almost drop the cigarette bud. „I don‘t wanna die.“

„Yeah. I know, kid. We have to get it over with.“

* * *

It‘s not his shirt, but who cares at this point? The leather jacket is cold, its rivets like ice cubes on Will‘s bare skin. Better than nothing, and the kid he got it from had no head. At least none that Will could see. The thought somehow makes him fall apart with manic giggling. No head! No head! Jeez, these punks need their heads, don‘t they?

„A-Alex!“

How can he even recognize her? She doesn‘t have a head either, for fuck‘s sake. Headless bodies everywhere, moving to the growling sounds of amplified guitars with no more than three strings left on them, out of tune and piercing into Will‘s eardrums.

* * *

Mrs. Felger isn‘t the kind of woman to lose her temper. Will bets he can get her there - it‘s a sort of competition between him and Alex, and so far neither have managed. Will is close this time, a satisfying feeling.

„You know, William, there are ways we can help you.“

„Oh yeah?“ he asks with utter disinterest.

„It doesn‘t have to be like this.“ she drones on, probably honestly believing she can _‚get through to him‘_, whatever that means. „The staff all know about your family history, and we‘re in contact with- William, please stop that.“

Purposefully absent from this conversation, Will clicks his Zippo open. He likes to lose himself in the flame, sometimes for hours on end, so he likes to keep a small can of gas on hand for refills.

„William, are you listening?“

Will clicks shut the lid on the scratched silvery thing, a gift from a kid named Charlie, or Chris, or Carl... He opens it again, makes a new flame. It‘s not the dumbest thing he has been caught for at this school, smoking in the bathroom. They all know they won‘t reach his mom, if by phone or by showing up on her doorstep. God knows they have tried. The teacher is getting visibly frustrated.

„I know it‘s hard-“ Her new, equally feeble attempt gets interrupted by Will huffing.

„Hard. Want me to show you something hard?“ Grinning, he reaches for his crotch while waving the lighter in front of her face.

„You know, even my patience is limited.“ Mrs. Felger says sternly. „I‘m sure you‘ve been through a lot, but this behavior has to end. There is no excuse for this level is disrespect, William. Aren‘t you worried for your future?“

Blah blah blah, future, family, kids, cars, living to forty or even fifty, a skipping record player every day of every week of every month, and Will is so fucking sick of it. Without thinking too much about it, Will slips his second cigarette pack, the one that they didn‘t find and didn‘t confiscate, out of his sleeve. Before Mrs. Felger can do anything, he is puffing smoke in her face.

Only until she strikes him. Hard. Sweet, delicious pain. A moment of shock later, her back straightens. „Get out of my office.“

She even gives him back his second pack. Damn, that‘s something to brag about to Alex.

* * *

Out! _Finally out! _The bitter air of a Seattle night sweeps under the jacket - Will‘s skin is numb but raw to the touch of the leather. He cries out with relief, the noise of the warehouse growing distant while he drags Alex along. „M‘not feeling good.“ she whispers. „N-Need...“

Trembling hands - bile in the back of his throat - smoke still in his nostrils. Will fumbles with her jeans, there must be something. The pack is light, but almost fills up Will‘s palm. Snowy-white powder. Exactly what they need right now. Just survive the night. Get through this hell, Byers!

* * *

„_Fit for one who sits and cries  
for all tomorrow‘s parties...“_

Will recognizes an ugly sob when he hears it. An adult sob, not the kind of noise a hungry child would make, but one that someone who has seen too much sputters into the darkness of a stuffy bedroom at two in the morning. He recognizes it even when he is biased, when it comes from himself.

Silence, but just for a while. For a few seconds the tape gives him some very faint static. One of Jonathan‘s mixes. Will knows all the songs by heart. The knot of barbed wire around his heart already tightens before the first verses faintly chime out of the speaker.

_„My daddy was a bank robber_   
_but he never hurt nobody...“_

A commotion outside of Will‘s door, making him jerk awake from his troubled near-doze and grip his pillow. Him holding it in front of his face is cruel instinct by now, so he doesn‘t see the door fly open and doesn‘t feel the blows.

„Turn it off!“ mom screeches. „Turn it off! Turn it off!“

But there is no way Will is going to reach for the stereo now, because there is also no way she is going to let him without giving him a nosebleed or a black eye. Something impacts in the pit of his stomach, making Will curl up and lose his grip on the pillow.

„Turn it off!“ mom screams again over the still playing music.

„M-Mom, I-“

„Turn it off!“

Now that the pillow has fallen, even in the dark he can see the madness in her eyes. But only for a second, then her fingers and interwoven with his hair, dragging him along. His scalp is almost ripped from him. No way to fight it. No will to fight it, actually. It‘s October, Will is in a shirt and his underwear. But once outside, he knows there is no getting into _the house_ again tonight.

Like so many nights before, he limps around back, stumbles into the old ramshackle shed where only a few still surviving spiders and moths will keep him company. Stupid. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

* * *

The boost hits, and it hits hard. Stars, twinkling to the beat of unheard music, swirl around, drag them along through the empty streets, all abandoned factories and broken down businesses. „Wooooh!“ comes an unintelligible sound from Alex. Will imitates it. No, it‘s not cold. Not anymore. They are _running!_

The hell were they even thinking? Why in the fuck did they leave this totally awesome party? Well, it‘s too late now. Having no idea where he is going, no idea how to get back, Will drags the girl along by her sleeve, sometimes by her hair - but only on accident, and she immediately complains.

* * *

„He is getting better.“

„Really?“

„Sure, kid. Good thing we waited. They would‘ve-“

„Yeah, I know. They would‘ve asked questions.“

The voices sound real, but it‘s still all just a dream. Will is dying, he knows it - and he is oddly content with it. He knows they are here because they are familiar, his junkie mind conjuring them since out of all people, Mike and Hopper mean the most comfort to him. Of all the people that are left.

It‘s the shed again, isn‘t it? Wooden walls, a wooden ceiling, all messy and old and falling apart, and if Will could look down on himself, he‘d find a needle in his arm; The first time, he panicked. _Shit, shit, shit! What have I done? _The second time, he tried to bargain. _Two times, that‘s it. What are the odds? _Only by the fifth time, he gave in. _Well, it‘s too late now._

And finally, after an uncountable number of times, all Will really hoped was that it would be an overdose. Not the other, infinitely more gruesome thing that just _has _to be thrumming through his veins by now. Looks like he is getting his wish.

„Will... can you hear me?“

Giggling. Was that _him? _Did Will just make that odd sound? Whatever. He has made odd sounds before, he reckons. Like when he stuck his finger down his throat on so many different occasions to finally stop the gagging. To make room for another few sips or another few cans.

Will feels the urge to do this right now, the only problem being he doesn‘t know if he still has arms or fingers or really any part of his body. He probably has, seeing as he is lying on the floor in the shed, dying from whatever he has just pressed into the dark red vein that has taken so much abuse already.

„Jeez, no! Will!“

Upon trying, Will finds that his fingers and his throat - a perfect match for each other - are still there. And if it makes dying a little more pleasant, oh well.

„Gotta turn him over! No, the other way!“

* * *

„D-Don‘t do that.“ Will giggles.

„What, this?“ Alex slurs before dragging a wet stripe up the lamppost with her tongue again. And again.

„S‘disgusting, whore.“ But in a way it‘s also fascinating, so Will watches her lick the metal like the bitch she is. „Where you wanna go?“

„Dunno.“ Clumsily, she attempts a cartwheel, lands on her face, and laughs manically at the small trickle of blood from her forehead. „Wanna get fucked.“

„M‘not gonna fuck you.“

„Gonna find someone then.“

* * *

„And remember kids. DARE to say no! Repeat after me!“

„DARE to say no...“ the audience mutters, all of them including Will, who is totally out of it. Why the fuck is there a talking lion? Is it just him, or does that make _no sense_.

„Alright!“ Mr Whatever declares to the entire auditorium. „I hope you learned something today. Please remember to report drug dealers and drug users to staff immediately. It‘s not snitching, you are saving lives. Dismissed.“

„Fuck, I thought it‘d never end.“ Alex groans. „Can you believe this shit?“

„Whatever.“ Will says. „We got the rest of the day off, isn‘t that something?“

„This shit wasn‘t worth it.“

„Hey, I still got some left.“ Will pats the pocket of his ripped jeans. „Bathroom?“

„Can you read minds?“

These precious things aren‘t easily exchanged, so by now a complex rule and value system exists between the two of them. One that they only throw overboard after two or three hours; One line in exchange for three of these pink little pills, for example. But only if it‘s a good line. Pure, white, not cut with too much shit.

Will sniffs, throwing his head back in the stall. „Suck it, grandma.“

„Man, fuck that Reagan bitch.“ Alex agrees. „I swear if I ever see her here, I‘m gonna throw this...“ she wiggles around the plastic bag with the white powder in it „...right in her face.“

„Ah, that‘ll change her mind. This is quality!“ Will exclaims. Should he punch the wall? He wants to punch the wall. He does. It doesn‘t even hurt. „I wanna run! Let‘s run!“

„Yeah, yeah. To the liquor store, right?“

Will sprints out of the bathroom, out of the school, Alex hot on his heels. Greeted by the usual police sirens, their feet hit cracked-up sidewalks, but it doesn‘t feel like it. More like the yellow brick road to the magical wonderland of bottles over bottles over bottles in all shapes and sizes. And they‘re after the big ones.

* * *

Needles. So many needles. Will‘s mind is completely scrambled and only dimly realizes he should be scared. He should run. But the damage has already been done - that‘s a thought far stronger and conscious to him. _The damage has already been done_. So he better makes himself forget.

„Hey there.“ Alex coos to the one that looks the least sick in the dark. Most of the boys and girls are violently scratching their bony arms bloody. Not him. He‘s new and completely fazed out.

„H-Hey...“ he whispers fearfully. What a fucking rookie. She‘s gonna have fun with him.

* * *

No. _No! _This is the end. Gargling... why was she _gargling _like that? Where did all the white foam come from? Why did she spit it out towards the ceiling in sickening coughs, mixed with blood and black slime?

The only question Will _doesn‘t _ask himself is why he ran. He will get away tonight, now or never, his throbbing brain is sure of it. Money... he‘s got money. Coke... he‘s got coke. Pot. Anything in between, anything to get him through. And in the worst case, he‘s got his body.

Death. So much death. And Will just keeps on running, running until his abused legs can‘t give him any more. Is it January? February? No snow this year, but the cold is brutal and dry from all sides, making the sweat on his skin almost freeze. Will sinks to the ground, back against a brick wall that drags whatever warmth is left out of him.

„Mom...“

But she isn‘t there with him, and will never be again. No, she is back at _the house_, foaming from her mouth - dead by now. Will never even tried anything. He just ran, and he‘s going to die with the knowledge.

„Mom... Mom!“

„Ay, shut the fuck up, junkie!“ someone yells from a window. Oh. It‘s three in the morning, isn‘t it?

How he does it, Will has no idea. But he stumbles on, tripping over himself again and again. He keeps going. Away. Away, no matter what it takes. Fifty bucks and a bag full of substances isn‘t too bad. It‘s something to work with, for a while at least.

* * *

They are grunting like animals, one more disgusting and more fascinating than the other. If Will had a camera on him, he‘d make this scene unforgettable. Produce stuff you can actually sell for money. He‘s not into tits, and touching them has always felt like more of a chore than anything else. Something he‘s done to make her give him things.

All in all, these nights he barely remembers must have been an exercise in roughness, the way his dick ended up sore in the morning. But this boy enjoys it, and Alex does too. And somehow, Will‘s mouth is watering.

* * *

„Hold still you little bitch!“

„Ah, fuck you, whore!“ Will‘s hand swings at her, misses because she is behind him and he sort of lacks the coordination to turn around. Alex yanks on his hair. „Whore!“ he repeats. „I‘m gonna kill you!“

„When... when we‘re done.“ she slurs. „Hold still, you kinda got two heads and I don‘t know where to aim!“

The electric clippers hum menacingly like a predator on the hunt for Will‘s hair - pretty accurate, actually. They happily eat away, driven across his scalp by a drunk hand on some pills. „Ow! Will yells. „The fuck. is. wrong. with you?“

„You wanted this!“

Through the pill-induced haze, Will observes strands of hair tumbling down to the moldy tiled floor of her bathroom. It makes him feel naked - cold air like he has never felt it on the now bare skin of his head.

The result is crooked from the booze she‘s had, embarrassing in a place like Hawkins but fucking bad-ass in a place like Seattle where you got a Mohawk or you‘re not worth selling the good stuff to. Hadn‘t Will already thrown up today, he‘d do it now from the scent of whatever shit she is smearing into his hair to make it stand up wildly. Alex takes a good nose from the spray can before she spreads the green shit all over Will.

„Still gonna kill you.“ Will says happily, eyes rolling back.

„Stay awake, asshole. This is the best part. Now look at yourself.“

She was right when she said Will had two heads. But then again, both of them look totally awesome in the mirror. „Gimme a beer!“ he demands. She cracks the can open for him, pouring a good chunk of it over his body. Will relishes the bitter, cheap taste, almost like metal.

„Stay awake!“ she repeats. „Wanna go out. Here.“ The pills are always good at keeping him up and alert, whatever the tiny little pink things are, wherever Alex gets them. Will swallows a few of them, keeping a few more for later when the next down is going to kick in.

* * *

„Not gonna lick you clean.“

  
The bobbing continues while Alex grins over her shoulder evilly. „Didn‘t... fuck!... ask you to... Got some... stamina, this one... more than you.“

„Fuck you.“ Will sneers. That wouldn‘t be too bad if he hadn‘t decided to take another nose. The atmosphere changes. Quickly. Before Will has even time to spread some of the powder on the back of his hand.

„Kid‘s got coke!“ someone screams. All hell breaks loose.

* * *

„Well, William, let‘s go through the results.“

„Can my-“

„Your friend can stay.“ the doctor, a humorless, cold bald man in his fifties, sighs with a glance at Mike. Mike, who refuses to let go of Will‘s hand. „Chief, I take it you want to stay as well?“

„I‘m not going anywhere.“ Hopper grunts. „Don‘t beat around the bush, doc.“

„Alright. William, we‘ve run every test we could, and I‘m telling you, I‘m inclined to call it a miracle. You‘re going to live.“

Will stares at the dark spots that riddle his arms. The sting was short, nothing he isn‘t used to. But the wait - the wait was hell. Days of hell, only made bearable by Mike, El, Dustin, Max, Lucas, Hopper, even Mrs. Wheeler, all keeping him company through it. _He is going to live? _„So, I‘m fine?“

It‘s not Will, but Mike who sobs out his relief. „I wouldn‘t say that.“ The doctor flips a few pages in his file. „You have contracted Hepatitis C. Do you know what that means?“ Upon a blank stare from Will, he continues. „It affects your liver. You may not have noticed symptoms so far, and I‘m confident we can get it under control with proper medication, but a risk remains. The worst possible outcome would be cirrhosis, but that would take up to twenty years. We‘ve caught it early enough.“

Hopper, looking unsure whether he should be relieved or furious, shows a frown. „You know what that means, kid. No more sips from _anything _when you think I‘m not looking.“

„It‘s just for my hands.“ Will says under his breath.

„They‘d also stop shaking if you could just-“

„Chief, please.“ the doctor stops him. „I know you don‘t want to hear it, but this calls for rehab to go along with the medication. As William‘s legal guardian, it‘s up to you.“

Hopper isn‘t one for hasty decisions, so he thinks about it. For days, in fact, and just the fact that he tells Will in the beginning „You‘re not getting a say in this, kid.“ is comforting.

If Will had a say, he wouldn‘t find the strength to pack his bags. Three months...

* * *

Blood. Too much blood; Where does it come from? It‘s hot and red on Will‘s arm, and he is running again. This is serious, he just knows it by how Alex isn‘t throwing curses at their pursuers. These kids are like a horde of zombies on drugs.

But like a horde of zombies, they are also close to blind and incredibly stupid. Will might be on every substance imaginable, but he isn‘t either of that. Or is he? Because one thing he never realized is, that Alex isn‘t talking. Just gargling. It‘s her blood. Her fucking blood. And then she is on the ground, the knife still twitching in her pale throat.

When he trots back to _the house_, numb and with an empty feeling in his chest, Will doesn‘t know that this night can still get worse.

* * *

The lights are comforting, in a way. They evoke trust and a sense of _‚It‘s over! It‘s finally over!‘_

Because the fire is now consuming that cursed building where _tonight _happened. Something Will would rather forget about. And as soon as everyone is back, he is going to forget about it.

Something tells him that this chapter of his life is finally over, that the threat is gone once and for all, and that his life can finally continue. After almost two years, that‘s the least the universe can do for him, he supposes.

He walks, more limps, through flashing red lights of ambulances, fire trucks, police cars, listens to helicopters landing in the distance, soldiers bellowing orders at news reporters. It‘s all a blur, but the fear will soon be washed away. Any minute now, they‘re going to be here. And everything is going to be fine.

But then, things are not fine. Not by a long shot. Will could faint with sheer luck when he sees mom. And Hopper is there too, thank god. She is injured, he is holding her up, but mom is walking mostly on her own.

Will approaches her. „Mom, you‘re-“

„Kid...“

Will blinks at Hopper, who is keeping an arm firmly wrapped around her. It‘s only now that he realizes just how dead her eyes look. Dry and hollow, even at night with nothing but emergency lights to illuminate the parking lot, Will can see that their color has dulled almost to gray. Her entire skin is gray, her white lips slightly agape.

„What‘s wrong with her?“ he demands of Hopper.

„Kid, I-“

Will cranes his neck in one direction, in the other, trying to get a look into the entrance of the burning mall. „Mom, where- where‘s Jonathan?“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming back to this fic months later because silly me just learned that the Hepatitis C virus wasn't discovered until 1989. Well, I'm not going to change the fic because of it. I think it's good to learn something new, so I guess this is your trivia fact for the day.


	2. ...and what comes after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of it what you want. I shed many, many tears over this, and it felt good.

Bloodshot eyes stare at him. They pierce through Will as though trying to muster what little soul he has still left in him. This is why he avoids mirrors. They just show him what he‘s done. They show him what others see when they look at him, and that sight makes him wonder why people still care. Part of his subconscious realizes that he has to look, though. That it‘s never going to get better if he turns his eyes away from reality. And so Will traces every protruding rib with the tip of his index finger. One at a time, then down to the hollow of his stomach. If anything was left in his stomach, he would now throw up. But all he can produce is a pitiful gagging sound.

Will narrows his eyes. No one ever told him that re-growing hair around a Mohawk looks so fucking weird. Like someone has gone to work with a lawnmower and just missed in the spot in the middle of their front lawn. Even worse, looking at his own scalp, Will can almost _read _how many days it has been since that night. The blur of the past three weeks means mercy to him, and he doesn‘t need this reminder. Breath hitching, he pulls open the mirror cabinet.

Heavy knocks on the door. „Kid? You‘re not doing anything stupid in there, are you?“

„No.“ Will replies in a raspy voice. „Don‘t worry.“

The door is thin, and Will can at least imagine hearing Hopper scratching his beard. „I do worry. You- you got about ten minutes.“

„I know. Just gotta do something.“

Hopper‘s reply is drowned out by the buzz of the electric clippers. After all, Will doesn‘t want to be the laughing stock of an entire hospital. The falling hair tickles his skin; No doubt, he‘s going to be itchy all day, like he always is after a haircut. As if that problem was of any significance. The prospect of things to come makes Will shiver, so his mind does what it can to stall. Once done with the clippers, he leaves them on for a few seconds to mask over the rustle of the little plastic bag. His last six pills. This is it.

Hair shouldn‘t go in the sink. It clogs everything, becomes a pain in the ass - so Will painstakingly collects all those frail strands, some of which he _swears _are gray, stuffs them into the now empty plastic bag he‘d kept hidden in his underwear ever since his arrival at Mike‘s house. And off they go into the depths of the Hawkins sewer system.

When he steps out of the bathroom, Hopper is standing there, arms crossed. „One more thing to do. You know that.“

Will doesn‘t realize how pleadingly he is staring up at the bearded man - only when Hopper‘s shoulders slump and he sighs. „I don‘t wanna start you early. It‘s gonna be bad enough as it is. Here.“

If Hopper knew about the pills, he wouldn‘t supply Will with tiny amounts from the other bag, the one he found early on going through Will‘s bag. He always insists on watching, insists that Will snort no more than the tiniest amount of the powder. Will does so greedily, with the knowledge that it is the last time. That it‘s now over, once and for all. It doesn‘t have an effect anymore anyways. All the stuff does is keep him sane. But when he hands the bag to Hopper again, who heads towards the bathroom with it, something cracks in Will‘s mind.

_Why? _he thinks. _It‘s good for me. It makes me think clearer, it makes the shaking go away. It‘s good for me!_

„No!“ he screams. „It‘s mine! I need it!“ And Will jumps. He claws into Hopper‘s back before he even knows what he is doing. Only, Will is weak. He weighs fifteen pounds less than he did half a year ago while being a couple of inches taller, and even back then he would have been no match for six-foot-three Chief Jim Hopper.

„Kid!“ Hopper yells at him. Pinned against the wall, Will isn‘t done struggling against the grasp on his shoulders. „Kid, listen to me!“

„It‘s gonna kill me!“ Will yells. „I‘m going to die without it!“

„What did we talk about? What are the cops gonna say when they find your body? What do they always say when they find another junkie in a puddle of his own piss and blood?“

Bricks in his stomach. Will‘s eyes blur over, the world starts to shimmer, projecting halos through his tears. „NHI.“ he says lowly.

„And what does that mean?“

„No...“

„I‘m listening.“

„No humans involved.“

Hopper nods gravely. „That‘s what we called it. Do you want to be a non-human? Or do you want to live to twenty?“ He carefully lets go, obviously still expecting Will to fight. But Will can‘t. He just watches Hopper drop the bag into the toilet bowl. „You do it.“ the man demands. „You‘ve taken this too far. It‘s do or die.“

So Will flushes. While watching the little bag of death vanish into the sewers for some rats to perish from it, he can hear El‘s voice in his head, almost as clear as it was a week ago, when it shook him to the bone. _„I tried to find you, because Hop told me to. But I couldn‘t. Will, I couldn‘t find you. And if you‘d go into the other room now, I still couldn‘t. I think it‘s because you‘ve lost yourself. If I go out looking for Will Byers, he‘s just gone.“_

* * *

The place even has a brochure. Doctor Owens sent it over, and Will skips through it again on the two-hour drive. Mainly to distract himself from the tearful goodbye. From the ‚Get well soon‘ banner in Mike‘s living room. From the expectations, both his own and everyone else‘s.

According to the text printed on the shiny paper, the place is a mansion. A high ranking officer and civil war veteran was gifted all but the entire forest about sixty miles north of Indianapolis by no other than president Grant. The brochure goes into some detail. How he had his house built there, how his descendants made a fortune on Wall Street, how one of his grandsons lost a daughter to an overdose. How that man then decided to dedicate his fortune towards a noble cause.

All Will knows is, he is going to be locked in there for three months. Three months, if everything goes well. Because Sam Owens has made it clear that he feels responsible, and that he is going to pay for a longer stay if necessary.

It doesn‘t look like a prison, though. More like a group home, which is a slight relief. But also odd, because it‘s just a house, carpets on wooden floor planks, artful wood paneling, couches and armchairs, and still nurses are running around in scrubs like in any regular hospital. „Just put your bags in the corner for the moment.“ the head nurse, Mrs. Foster tells him, gesticulating to the corner of her office. She is friendly enough, but professionally cold. Will is glad Hopper doesn‘t leave right away.

Mrs. Foster talks about the doctors - there are three of them at this institution - about the institution‘s history, again, and about the general rules. She makes it very clear that _„possession of substances will be met with detention.“_, whatever _detention _means in a place where everyone is locked up anyways. „Now, William, what did you consume last? And when did you do it?“

Will swallows thickly, looking at Hopper, who rests a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of encouragement. „C-Cocaine. Two and a half hours ago.“

Mrs. Foster scrutinizes him over the rim of her glasses. Pale blue eyes pierce into his soul. „And?“

„And pills.“ Will says quietly, blinking while mustering his feet. „Don‘t know what kind. Something that calms me down. A friend used to get them for me before... before she...“ Hopper doesn‘t react to that revelation, probably because getting worked up about it now that it‘s over doesn‘t make sense. And despite what some people may think, he has a lot of sense in him.

„Well, that person wasn‘t much of a friend, don‘t you agree?“ Mrs. Foster clicks her tongue. She presses a buzzer on her antique desk. „Mr. Hopper, there are some things I want to discuss with you while William gets his initial checkup. Ah, Harriett...“ A younger nurse spies through the opening door. „Please go through the intake procedure with William.“

Harriett is nice, Will decides. After all this talk from Hopper, as well meaning as it might have been, Will didn‘t expect to be treated like a human. But she says _‚please‘ _when she asks him to undress and sit on the stretcher. She even warms up the stethoscope with her palm before laying it on his skin. She doesn‘t judge when he lists all the things he has swallowed, pumped into his veins, or snorted through his nose.

„Just a little sting. Do you want to lie down for it?“

„No, it‘s okay.“ Will lets her stick the needle in his arm not far from all those dark red spots that he put there himself. One, two, three phials of blood. Will is used to needles, so whatever.

„Of course we know about your condition.“ she says to him. „But the doctors want to know what‘s in your bloodstream right now. Because any substances could interfere with your medication.“

„Mrs. Foster already asked me what I had.“

Harriett smiles, but she does so with some bitter regret. „It‘s a test of honesty, William. We can‘t rely on your word alone. I‘m going to have to search you now. It‘ll be over in thirty seconds if you don‘t fight it.“

She has already gone through Will‘s clothes, including even his briefs and socks, but now Harriett pulls a rubber glove over her hand. And because of that sight, the realization finally hits that he has maneuvered himself into a terrible position. He has brought this upon himself, and crying about it feels pathetic, but he does nonetheless. When it‘s over, she gives him a hospital gown, green with a hard to define pattern on it. Harriett lets him sit on the stretcher to calm down for a little longer while she fills out her paperwork. „Your clothes go into the wash. We have to search your bags before you get them back.“

As a sort of compensation, Will gets a pair of thick socks and slippers with a sticky rubber sole. „I‘ll check into a hotel for a few days.“ Hopper tells him back in Mrs. Foster‘s office. A tiny smile shows behind his beard. „El can stay with Maxine. I bet Wheeler isn‘t happy about it.“

Will doesn‘t smile back. „Why are you staying?“

„Because-“

Mrs. Foster interrupts Hopper, again not rude, but a bit cold; she is brutally honest. „Because you‘re going to have a bad week, William. Withdrawal can be an ugly thing. You‘ll only be introduced to our other patients once it‘s over. Mr. Hopper wants to help you get through it, and frankly, I find that admirable.“

* * *

_An ugly thing_ Will thinks. More and more he gets the feeling that Mrs. Foster‘s words were an understatement. Once, months ago, Will woke up in a cell at a police station in Seattle. The room they put him in is strikingly similar, but at least this one has a window. Other than that, it‘s tiles. A drain in the middle of the floor. A narrow metal bed.

It‘s cold too. Or is that just his body slipping into withdrawal? Will gets a hot cup of tea, something to eat from today‘s lunch - pot roast with mashed potatoes - and the bed is oddly comfortable. If only he could keep his hand from twitching. He almost spills his tea. „Do you think it‘s starting?“ Hopper asks after the nurse has taken the empty plate and cup. Will‘s eyes squint. He holds his right hand in front of them and nods. „I‘ll be right here.“ He makes himself as comfortable as he can in his wooden chair, and then he sits there by Will‘s bedside. And there is nothing else to do but to wait for what‘s to come.

Will never goes half an hour without a nurse checking in, and they assure him that, if Hopper wasn‘t here, a nurse would be with him at all times. It‘s a slow buildup. A bit like going through a hangover in reverse. A bit of nausea, a bit of headache, all of it increasing by the minute. The sky outside is already darkening, snowflakes are dancing, and the light in the room is dimmed when it really starts. The clock on the wall shows five in the afternoon. Will is tired. He just wants to sleep. But a sudden stab to the chest won‘t let him. Instead, he jerks up.

Hopper says something; Nothing that would make sense. It sounds like random noises grunted underwater. A nurse makes the same noises. She presses Will back into the sheets with hands of red hot needles. His bed is made of nails. Everything is made of nails, even the air in Will‘s lungs. And he screams - probably. Since Will is deaf, he can‘t tell. The clock spins as though attached to an engine. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. But once Will blinks, it‘s five again. And Will‘s stomach decides to empty itself on the floor. Or on the ceiling. Nothing makes sense anymore. The world is spinning out of control - a little sting in his upper arm, and then it‘s all black.

Pain. The world is pain. In Will‘s chest, in his head, his arms, even his fingertips and toes. Lingchi, death by a thousand cuts - the Chinese used to execute criminals by slicing off little parts of their body, one by one. Would the comparison be audacious? It‘s just not worth it. It‘s _not worth it_. Hopper is gone, he realizes. But there is a nurse Will couldn‘t care less for. The wall looks nice. It looks inviting. Like a heavenly painkiller. Before he knows it, Will is bleeding. Everything turns black again. And then it‘s bright and Hopper is back.

„C-Can‘t-“

„I know, kid. Here, drink.“

Most of the water runs down his chin. What does Will remember? Being peeled out of his bloody gown... being held down to get stitches. Will tries to reach for the cup Hopper is holding, but he can‘t.

„Sorry. Looks like you had an accident while I was gone.“ Hopper‘s voice is thick and a bit weaker than usual, but it hammers in Will‘s head. „You got yourself a nice laceration there.“

This time, Will tries to reach for his throbbing head. Again, he can‘t. There is just the plain ceiling. „Kill me.“

„Kid-“

„Kill me! It hurts! It‘s not worth it! Just-“ Will fights hard, but the padded restraints won‘t give in. All he does is piss himself. Time passes and doesn‘t at the same time. This is Will‘s life now; Pain. Vomit. Piss. The terrible droning of snowflakes like gunshots on the window. Why won‘t they just let him die? They stick needles into him, an IV drip. They give him water. They clean him up and rinse the vomit off the tiled floor with buckets of water. All while he just wants to die. Why don‘t they understand that _nothing _in this world is worth this amount of pain?

The worst is Hopper. He is there for most of the day and even some time after dark. He says things Will doesn‘t want to hear. If he won‘t help Will die, he is not welcome here. „I hate you! Why won‘t you listen?“ Will spits at him. „It‘s all my fault! They‘re dead and it‘s _my fault! _Just kill me already! I hate you!“ He is just repeating what mom is saying. Standing there behind Hopper, her dead eyes bore into Will. _„It‘s your fault. You killed us.“ _her rotting mouth whispers, fat maggots feasting on her black gums. _„It should have been you. You deserve this pain.“ _Her voice is in his head - it‘s getting louder - Will‘s ears feel like they are bleeding. „I deserve it! I killed them!“

Jonathan is there too, swinging his torn off arm around like a club. _„After all I‘ve done for you. After all I‘ve done for you. After all I‘ve done for you. I died for you.“ _he goes on and on and on.

„For fuck‘s sake... Like I care if they kick me out for this. I know you‘re not gonna hurt yourself again.“ Will can hear the scratch of velcro, feels the pressure leaving. First his wrists, then his waist. His convulsing body soon lies half on the bed, half in Hopper‘s lap. A nurse later gives the man a stern talk about removing medical restraints without permission. But Will can‘t hear mom anymore. And he can‘t see Jonathan anymore. All he does is scream against checkered flannel until his lungs give up the ghost.

* * *

The boy‘s name is Zeke. He is a bit overweight, a bit too loud and outgoing, and he doesn‘t like his name. Zeke - _call me Ziggy _\- is going to be Will‘s roommate, at least for a while, because he is almost at the end of his three months here.

„In this house, roommates take care of each other. You both have a responsibility.“ Harriett explains. Will feels weak, wobbly on his legs, and doesn‘t think he‘ll be able to take much information in. What she tells them, though, is easy enough to understand. If either of them is found in possession of anything that would qualify as a drug, a weapon or any other forbidden item, both are to bear the consequences. The exception being cigarettes, because it‘s the job of this institution to wean kids off the instant-kill stuff.

„By _consequences_ she means they‘d lock us in here for a day.“ Ziggy explains once she‘s gone. „Don‘t worry, I‘m clean.“

Will takes in the room in its entirety. They are all pretty much the same. Ten rooms for twenty people on the upper floor. Two narrow beds made from dark oak, two desks next to each other by the window. A view of the woods and a now frozen over lake that tourists would pay good money for. And, of course, a small bathroom that, instead of a lock, only has an _‚Occupied!‘ _sign with a little yellow frowning face on one side and a little yellow smiley face on the side that says _‚Unoccupied!‘_.

Both Will‘s duffel bags are sitting there on the bed, along with the clothes he wore four days ago upon arrival - washed and neatly folded. „I‘m gonna go change.“ he says to Ziggy, stumbling for the bathroom door. Just a toilet, a sink and a shower, all reasonably modern and perfectly clean. It must have cost a fortune to get the additional plumbing installed into this house. Everything about Will‘s stay here must cost a fortune too, but Sam Owens, or rather the organization he works for, is taking care of that.

Will slips into real clothes for the first time in days, and despite feeling hollow, used up and still a little sick, it‘s a comforting sensation. He feels human again. Like his body is really his, no matter how much it‘s still hurting. „We‘re gonna stay in our room for the rest of the day.“ Ziggy says from the other side of the door. „New roommates are supposed to get to know each other and whatnot. We‘re not locked in or anything, but we better not leave.“

He is okay with that. Meeting eighteen more people right now is completely out of the question for Will. He‘d probably fall back into the fever that has plagued him for the last two days and nights straight. How many times they had to change his sheets because they were either soaked in piss or sweat, Will has no idea. The hospital gown, his underwear and socks go into the laundry bin. He finds Ziggy lounging on his bed, clearly bored.

„I won‘t tell anyone if you go somewhere else.“

„Not gonna happen.“ Ziggy snorts. „Nurses everywhere. It‘s okay. You brought yourself something to read? Something to pass the time?“

„Sure.“ The shelves on Ziggy‘s side of the room, the WWE-posters, comic books and family photos show, that the kids here are supposed to make themselves at home. Will lies down, too exhausted to wonder if he should ask Hopper to bring him photos. Seizures are a bitch.

„Hey, what‘d you do?“

„What?“ Will‘s eyes fly open again. „What did I do?“

„Jeez, no.“ Ziggy laughs. „I mean drugs. Which ones?“ Because Will doesn‘t answer, Ziggy sighs. „Pot, Acid, booze. I was pretty fucked in the end.“

„Sounds like you want to make this a competition. Okay...“ Will starts counting off with his fingers. „Booze, pot, coke, H, Ether, acid only a few times. Stayed clear of amphetamines, but there were some pills. No idea what exactly.“

„Jesus, dude. And that thing on your head?“

Will winces when he involuntarily reaches for the stitched up wound. „Don‘t wanna talk about it.“ If he only had hair to cover it up - It really is Alex‘s fault that he doesn‘t. And according to El, a buzz cut doesn‘t look good on him. He believes her, seeing as she is an expert on buzz cuts.

That afternoon, Will learns a thing or two about Ziggy. That he - _shocker! _\- likes wrestling. That his father‘s money made it just too easy for him to get his hands on drugs. That he eats a lot. Will‘s stomach turns over after he has forced down only half his dinner, but Ziggy happily takes care of that for him. Usually they‘d eat with the others, but new roommate day seems to be something really important here, so they sit at their desks for it, Will desperately trying to keep his hands from shaking.

The after dinner cigarette doesn‘t help a lot. They sit there, cold January air seeping through the open window, puffing smoke outside. That‘s the rule for smoking in the house. Keep the windows open for it.

„This isn‘t going to last forever.“ Ziggy points at Will‘s trembling digits. „Took about three weeks for me, but it went away.“

„Hm. Good to know. Look, I‘m kinda tired. Do you mind if I-“

Ziggy flicks his cigarette bud outside and closes the window. „S‘good. Harriett wanted me to keep you up for a while, but you‘ve been fighting it all afternoon, huh?“

Will doesn‘t answer. He does feel somewhat grateful, because going to sleep earlier would‘ve meant that he could have ended up wide awake at two in the morning. And Will would pass on being trapped for another four hours, alone with a snoring roommate and his thoughts - and the monsters.

* * *

Lock in at nine (the rooms stay unlocked, as that only means the patients can‘t leave the upper floor), lights out at ten, breakfast at six - eight on the weekends. This place is simple. Everything is in order here, and coming from months of chaos, of never knowing when or _where _he would wake up in the morning, this order makes the days short. So many things to take in, so little time. New people, first and foremost. Will decides he gets along with Ziggy, as he does with everyone else. This isn‘t a place of pity, which is good. The last thing Will needs is being told what a poor boy he is. He fucked up, no use denying that.

Nights can be both, good or bad. There is no real pattern to it, at least none that Will can figure out. Sometimes mom is there, and she is still rotting, her body falling apart. Jonathan too, but he is more tearing himself apart. Alex, with the knife sticking and twitching in the gray skin of her throat. He can understand why it‘s mom and Jonathan. But Alex? Will hates her. He thinks he did from the beginning. Fucking her didn‘t change that. When it‘s her, Will turns around, closes his eyes and tries to block out the gargling noises from that night. It‘s only been a bit over a month, but it feels like ages.

Hopper comes by on the first weekend. Many visitors come for the kids in this place. Parents, relatives and such. Will and Hop talk for a while about nothing substantial. How are things in Hawkins? Is it snowing there too? How is El doing at school?

The second weekend is different. Heavier and darker in terms of mood. „Was an awful lot of paperwork.“ Hopper says at the end of his visit. „But we got the urn now. I... I got you a suit. And two days shore leave two weeks from now. I‘ll pick you up on Monday and, well I figured you might want to stay with Wheeler.“

„Or do you want me to stay with him so you don‘t have to kick him out of your cabin every night?“ Will returns.

„Already reading minds.“ Hopper laughs in an obvious attempt to dissolve some tension. „You‘re getting better.“

„I guess.“ Will says, though he isn‘t sure. All he wants is that delicious high. Or the bitter taste of beer, or the burn of whiskey. Or mouthwash, he wouldn‘t be picky. He bets he could keep himself from throwing it up. He just wants _something_. The doctors and nurses tell him it‘s normal. They are honest people, something Will realizes one Thursday, when Doctor Cohen says „_You will fight the craving for the rest of your life.“_

Will nods, obediently swallows his pills, and understands. He also understands that his liver is fucked, and that he can never _ever _give in. He isn‘t the only one with Hepatitis in this place. It‘s about the worst condition they tolerate - Kids with HIV won‘t get in, as sad as it is.

The night after Hopper‘s visit, no one is there. Will is alone in the dark. Not really, Ziggy is still there, but Will ignores him; He isn‘t keen on listening to someone jerking it. Ignoring these noises coming from the other is an unspoken agreement between them. Will always tries to wait until his roommate is asleep. Tonight he won‘t do anything, least of all sleep. There is a small gravestone in Hawkins‘ main graveyard with his brother‘s name on it. And soon there will be another hole in the ground next to it. And then, another gravestone. Will is going to have to watch this hole being filled.

On the bright side, Will eats more and more every day. He throws up less. Until after almost two weeks, he actually finishes a meal. According to one of the nurses, a large black woman called Shirley, _„every victory has to be celebrated.“. _By that she means giving Will a cupcake, which he also eats. It tastes like heaven on his tongue and sits in his stomach as a lump of warmth, as odd as that may sound.

After dinner, Will sits on his bed, his eyes trained on the photo frame on his night stand. It has been lying there face down since Hopper brought it, and for the first time Will contemplates propping it up to look at it. But contemplating is all he does. He goes for a quick smoke before bed. Nothing hurts tonight. No twisting knife in Will‘s guts, no jackhammer to his head. They took the stitches out the day before. In time his hair is going to grow and cover up the scar.

„Had a good day, huh?“ Ziggy‘s voice comes through the dark to him.

„I... don‘t know. Less terrible, maybe.“

„That‘s how it starts. Just wait and see. I‘m not gonna be around much longer.“

Will sighs. „I know. Want to stay in touch? So you don‘t get tempted?“

Ziggy gives Will his number in the morning, along with the promise that roommate responsibility doesn‘t end on the doorstep of this house. He has kept in touch with his former roommate too, a boy who is proof that one can make it. A comforting thought; without Will really noticing it, the pain has eased to a point where it doesn‘t make him want to jump out the window anymore.

* * *

„If you‘re not feeling up to it, you can just-“

Will interrupts Hopper, because this is the second attempt he has made on this car ride. „How? How am I supposed to enjoy my _days off_ when I know that my mom...“

„Okay. Fair enough. I think you should be there anyways. I didn‘t invite the whole town, so no questions. No stares, I promise.“

Will breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. Could he face anyone? Mom‘s coworkers, acquaintances, people from school he once knew. They don‘t need to see him, and he doesn‘t _want_ to see them. Doesn‘t need them wondering why he is emaciated, why his hair is gone. „Thank you. I just... Hop, she wanted to get out of Hawkins. And now we‘re bringing her back. It‘s not right.“

„She wanted you safe. But she‘d been through too much and made a mistake. Many mistakes, I think. That‘s not an insult. Just what I thought when you took off. No one could stay in their right mind after all that.“

Will thinks about this for the rest of the drive. Did she make a mistake? When she decided on Seattle? When she sent Will outside in the cold, battered and bleeding from her drunken hand? If it was her mistake, why does she come to him at night? Why does she insist he should have fought it harder? Because that isn‘t _the _truth, it‘s just _Will‘s _truth. One he firmly believes in.

Mrs. Wheeler makes him feel at home. More than that, she makes him feel like he has a mother. She spoils him on purpose, fills his plate over and over for as long as there is any food left. And when the food is gone, she switches to desserts. The shock is still sitting deep in her bones, Will has no doubt about it. Hell, little over a month ago a normal day in Hawkins turned into a week of nursing him through a life-threatening fever.

„Are you getting along with the other kids?“ she asks him out of genuine concern.

„They‘re okay. I‘ll get a new roommate soon, but I guess we all...“

„You all have your own burden to carry.“ she says. Will couldn‘t have put it better.

„That‘s right.“ Mr. Wheeler, unfazed and clueless as to what is happening in his house, says from behind his newspaper. He doesn‘t know half of what‘s gone down. He could know, if he‘d just ask. But some things never change, and as far as Will is concerned, that‘s good. Something he is used to. Stability, and if it‘s just the obliviousness of his best friend‘s father.

Mike is frustrated with his dad as always, but doesn‘t take it out on Will. They breathe in the darkness of the basement, Mike gnashing his teeth and Will praying that no one is going to come to him tonight. But they do come, all three of them, and they whisper. _„They‘re going to bury me because you didn‘t fight. Why didn‘t you fight?“ _and _„Look at your arms. Ungrateful. Ungrateful.“ _

„Will?“

„Make them go away!“ it bursts out of him. „Tell them to stop!“

Mike shakes him, fingernails leaving marks on his shoulders. „Wake up. Will, you gotta wake up.“

Will isn‘t even asleep. He wishes he was, and that he could just wake up from this nightmare to find the world in order again. No rotting flesh in the night, no needles, no pills. Just D&D, X-Men and Star Wars. And crayons. Will wants these more than anything in the world, but whenever he tries to hold one, his hand acts on its own, trembles until the damn thing all but flies across the room. _„You better join us, Will.“_

„No! Mike!“

„Will, what is it? You gotta come back to me.“

„Tell them I don‘t want to die! They won‘t listen to me!“

Mike now guides him gently, as though he understands. As though he can see them. „Just close your eyes. Close your eyes, I‘m here.“ Mike‘s jumper ends up wet, but he doesn‘t complain. Instead, he palms over Will‘s ear - the one that isn‘t pressed into the pillow - and muffles the voices. They‘re in Will‘s head, and still they give in from this simple gesture of friendship. Slowly, the voices fade. Until only Mike‘s remains, clear as a bell and _real. _„You said you didn‘t want me to call you again, but I knew, okay? I knew you weren‘t being honest. I stayed by the phone for an hour.“

„Just always so tired...“ Will chokes out. „Couldn‘t keep my eyes open.“

„I wanted to be there so bad, I- I‘ll never let you get that far away from me again.“

„Now you‘re being a creep.“

His words earn Will a kiss to the cheek. He still doesn‘t sleep well at night, but at least he sleeps at all. He thinks a little sip of something would make it better. He _knows _it would, and he also knows that the Wheelers have alcohol in the house. The mere fact that he doesn‘t end up looking for it feels like a small success. He couldn‘t wiggle himself out of Mike‘s grasp anyways, though.

The next day, Will listens to some pastor he has never seen drone on and on in the early February sun, his breath clouding in front of his immaculate white collar. His monotone voice tells tales of a mother‘s love, about hardships, about loss and God‘s plan - During all of it, Will is part of a unit that keeps him from braking down, a chain of six people who know the truth and won‘t let go. Never again. They have even put up a photo, one that Will ignores pointedly.

Hopper stayed true to his word; No one but the Party and their parents is there, though more people than usual roam the graveyard. Far off in the distance, a man thoughtfully palms his cheek. Will gives a hesitant nod in his direction, and Mr. Clarke lowers his head and walks away. Many people walk away when the small procession trots off after all is said and done. Will can‘t wait to get the tie off himself. It‘s too tight around his neck, leaves him gasping for air. At least he imagines it‘s the tie.

All he wants to do is sleep. But Hopper takes him to the cabin, „Only for a while, kid. I gotta show you something. They, I mean, I don‘t exactly know who _they _are, but they cleaned out your house and sent over some boxes. Promise I‘ll take good care of things.“

_Some boxes_, Hopper said. The living room of his cabin has turned into a storage room, because Jonathan‘s stereo almost takes up more space than this place has to offer. Will takes the Walkman with him, along with some tapes. „You can‘t keep all that stuff here. It blocks the TV.“

„Don‘t worry about it. When you‘re back for good, we‘ll have already moved into our new house. Everything you don‘t want in your room can go in the attic then.“

Will has to sit for a few minutes. Just the way Hopper talks about giving him a home, as though that is the most normal thing in the world, is too much to handle. Back at Mike‘s place, Will barely has time to exchange slacks for sweatpants before his eyes close. Tonight, Mike doesn‘t wait for anything to happen before wrapping himself around Will. In the morning, it‘s going to be goodbye again.

* * *

Ziggy is gone a mere week later. Everyone tells him how mighty proud they are on his last day - So does Will, though he really didn‘t know the boy at his worst, so it‘s hard to tell how far exactly he has come. There is a party of sorts, pizza and soda, and the proceedings leave no doubt that the doctors and nurses will use Ziggy as another shining example of what one can achieve. Will _is _glad for him. But then night comes around and Ziggy - having been picked up by his rich father is his rich people‘s car - is gone. A few nights, Will is going to have to spend without a roommate. He sits on his bed, back against the wall, staring at the empty bed and the empty walls where WWE-posters used to be.

The terror of twilight seeps in through the window, the low ceiling of the upstairs bedroom presses down more with every second that the sun keeps leaving. Will isn‘t a prisoner, he knows that. Today‘s schedule is over and he can go wherever he want, he can socialize. Something ties him to his bed, though, keeps him from switching on his bedside lamp. He just pulls his legs to his chest, because Will is sure if his feet keep on dangling off the bed, something from underneath it will grab them with its decaying claw.

That night they don‘t speak to him. They just watch with dull eyes, never blinking, for hours and hours - they seem to be coming closer without moving an inch. Will just wants to sleep. If they would just let him. _If they would just let him_. _If he could just find the courage to prop up the photo on his nightstand, to look at it and remember_.

The bed opposite to Will‘s doesn‘t stay unoccupied for long. Just three days and nights, about the time it must take the kid to go through the worst part of it all. He claims his name is Flynn, but according to Harriett _„Your new roommate‘s name is Charlie, and he‘ll join you tomorrow.“_ Now, Will gets why one would go for Ziggy instead of Zeke, but this is just pretentious. Everything about Charlie is pretentious, except for his comically wide eyes when Will starts calling him by his real name immediately.

As is tradition, they spend the day together in their room to get acquainted. And there are so many places where Will would rather be that afternoon. „Yeah, sure. Pot, coke, did it all.“ Charlie says. „Coke is the best isn‘t it?“

_No, it‘s not_, Will thinks, but he just grunts and stares at Charlie from across the room.

„Not much of a talker, huh? Man, I‘m starving. Whose ass do I have to kiss to get some dinner in this place, am I right?“

Of course, they do get their dinner, and after devouring it like a madman, Charlie excuses himself. He emerges from the bathroom ten full minutes later, without having showered but instead with a thick plastic lump in his hand. Hard to identify at first, he soon shows it to Will in detail. „Yeah, man.“ Charlie proudly proclaims. „Swallowed that to get it in here. Man, when that hot chick stuck her finger up my ass, that was wild. Had me praying to god I didn‘t swallow too early. But here we are. I‘ll even share because I‘m such a nice guy.“

„If that thing had ripped open...“ Will says flatly „...you‘d be dead. That‘s at least ten grams.“

„Twelve. Jeez, can you imagine that? Would‘ve gone out in style, though.“

It sets Will off. Not the fact that this kid just shit out a bag of cocaine or that he is planning to snort some. It‘s the _gone out in style_. Charlie looks oblivious to the inner workings of Will‘s mind. Standing there, wiggling the little bag in Will‘s face, he is unprepared for Will‘s hand on his throat. Charlie is a complete and utter pussy, Will realizes. The boy whimpers at being thrown over and landing on the ground with a thump.

„Going out in style? You mean choking on your own puke? Seizing, coughing up foam and blood? You call that style? Did you know you shit and piss yourself when you die?“ Will‘s spit drips on the poor bastard‘s cheek. „Here‘s what‘s going to happen. You put that shit somewhere out of my sight. Or else I‘m gonna wait until you‘re asleep. I‘m gonna cut my finger and drip some blood right in your junkie mouth. Know what Hepatitis is?“

„You fucking psycho!“ the kid chokes out. „I‘m gonna- I‘m gonna-“

„Tell on me? And admit you smuggled coke in your fucking stomach?“

Will is out of breath when he lets go of Charlie. He stumbles into the bathroom, but ends up smirking at the mirror. He does look like a psycho, doesn‘t he? Thin as a twig, eyes red, scarred scalp showing under barely existent hair, his sweater two sizes too large. The manic grin doesn‘t leave his face when he rinses his head and cheeks with cold water, but he wills it away in the end, because he will have to share a room with this kid for two months. He can‘t see the little pack anymore, thank god, and just informs Charlie „I‘m gonna take a shower. You should too when I‘m done.“ After thinking for a second, he adds „Do what you gotta do. I‘m not going to snitch on you.“

* * *

Will should have snitched. He quickly loses sight of Charlie‘s activities, turns a blind eye to the weird way the boy‘s parents never come visit him, but his older brother does. He goes to his therapy sessions, eats his meals and actually does fill out a little over the next weeks. Hopper drops by as often as he can, sometimes with El in tow, sometimes with either Mike, Dustin, Lucas or Max. These visits are more than welcome. They help Will to keep in touch and to remember that there will be a time after.

Hopper hands him a few packs of cigarettes too, because it‘s not forbidden and _„I can‘t have you lose your mind in here. Get off the hard stuff, we can work on this crap later. One step at a time.“_

„You‘ve got to see our new house.“ El says dreamily. „I can‘t wait for you to come home.“ These words hit Will with a force that knocks him off his feet. How she just calls it _home _without thinking twice. For reasons unknown to him, Will is welcome with her and Hopper. He‘ll live with them, have his own room with his own stuff as if that‘s the most normal thing in the world. This keeps him going through all those nights when his _other _visitors won‘t let him sleep.

It‘s on one of these nights, a particularly bad one, during which mom lets him revisit all her suffering again, that hell breaks loose. And hell isn‘t loud - rather, it‘s almost inaudible over the droning whisper of Will‘s ghosts. It‘s gargling, spitting, sick and desperate. It‘s the scratching of fingernails against a wall. Nothing Will hasn‘t heard before, but with a sudden start he realizes that this time it is real. He flips the switch on his lamp, but Charlie‘s half of the room stays in relative darkness.

Will can see enough, though; The boy desperately clawing for something that isn‘t there, his bubbling breath hitching and screeching leaves no room for interpretation. He thrashes in his bed, covers thrown off, his body seizing with an amount of violence that can only mean one thing. Will falls out of his own bed. For some odd reason, he drags Charlie to the floor, which doesn‘t make a difference all. „Shit, shit, shit, _shit!_“ he mumbles at the sight of white foam and the sharp stench of stomach acid. Rolling the boy over to his side doesn‘t help, because he doesn‘t stop lashing out in all directions and rolling to his back again.

Will makes a beeline for the emergency button by the door, just hoping it will alert someone like it is supposed to. His fist comes in contact with Charlie‘s chest. Once, twice, again and again, each time with a hollow thump. „Come on, come on!“ Will whimpers. „Spit it out!“ Still on his knees, panic rising into unknown heights, he jumps for the door, rips it open. „Help!“ he yells out into the dark corridor. It‘s _his _fault, and if this boy dies right now, another ghost is going to be in good company. One more accuser in the night for Will, one more voice to torment him. It‘s not going to happen. „Over here!“

The next day, Will has to answer questions. Mrs. Foster sits him down in her office, tells him that Charlie overdosed on cocaine, but that he is going to live. „How could he get his hands on it? Why didn‘t you, as his roommate, notice anything? William, this is serious. This is the first incident we‘ve had in six years. Tell me what you know.“

Now, Will could hold his tongue. He could pretend not to know anything, but that would be unfair towards Charlie. He deserves a chance, no matter how much of a jerk he is - and how is he going to get that chance if the supply chain isn‘t broken? „I- I think it‘s his brother.“ he confesses. „I mean, his parents never visit, but his brother does. And you don‘t search visitors, do you?“

„Sporadically. When we have a reason to.“ Mrs. Foster says. „So that means you at least were holding suspicions?“

Will swallows thickly around a lump in his throat. „I knew. He kept it out of my sight, but I knew.“

„I want you to tell me something, William. If we were to turn your room upside down, search every corner of it, would we find anything that belongs to you? Any substances? Think carefully before you answer.“

They do search the room, and they don‘t find anything among Will‘s stuff. He still has earned himself a day of detention, but he takes it without complaint. He really is to blame for last night. Almost as much as Charlie is. Will uses the day spent alone to catch up on some school work and even to work ahead for a bit just to distract himself. They tell him that it might take a week for Charlie to come back. He won‘t be assigned another roommate for that time, and that is really the worst part of it. How many nights is he going to spend alone?

He knows that on every afternoon, as the sun will set, it will drop a brick into his stomach, which will churn and flip in anticipation of the darkness and the monsters. Will lets most days go by without using the phone calls he has a right to. But during this week, he calls Mike every day for a few minutes. Not to lament or complain about his sleepless nights. Just to hear a familiar voice. Mike telling him about Hawkins, about the state of the entertainment industry (comic books, movies, music) is a welcome hint of normality.

* * *

They start searching rooms on a weekly basis from then on. Not at night or anything drastic like that. But sometimes, after dinner, a pair of roommates find their place just slightly out of order, with a note on one of their desks praising them for doing so well in their therapy. Just to give everyone something positive after all the suspicion. Will notices that Charlie doesn‘t throw these notes away. He keeps them. He has become very quiet after his week in a hospital a town over. Everyone who has had contact with him considers this a win. Rumors spread that his brother got arrested, but where they come from nobody knows. It would certainly serve that asshole well. Jonathan _never _would have done this.

But then again, Jonathan never would have resented Will. But still, his decaying corpse does just that night after night. _„After all I‘ve done for you. You killed me. Why did you bike through the woods that night? Why didn‘t you fight it harder? Why did you leave mom alone at the house? Murderer.“ _And he goes on swinging his arm, holding the crusty stump in Will‘s face. He does that until Will passes out from exhaustion or dawn breaks, whatever happens first. And yet, if asked, Will couldn‘t explain why he never tells anyone about these nights. He is doing just fine during the day.

Time passes quicker than he thought was possible, and Will‘s birthday rolls around. It‘s of little comfort to him without mom and Jonathan. For the first time ever, he is alone, because it‘s a Tuesday, but visitors are only permitted on Saturdays and Sundays. But lo and behold, Hopper is a better negotiator than one would think just by looking at him. He can‘t get everyone in, but Mike and El are tolerated for the afternoon. It‘s cold for a late March day - the snow is gone, but when the sun rises in the mornings, the grass is still sprinkled in a glimmering layer of ice. Still, they spend the day outside, because the house is stuffy and the sun is warm.

A few benches line the lake, now freed of ice. „So, three weeks, huh?“ Mike muses, watching a few ducks stretching their wings. They wouldn‘t survive the winter if it wasn‘t for the crumbs of bread the patients throw them. „Do you think you‘re up to it? People at school have no idea you‘re coming back to town.“

Will smooths a hand over his head, glad that his hair is growing back and that he now has what people would call an actual haircut - it even falls over the little bald spot that is his scar in a concealing way. „People at school.“ he sighs. „I don‘t really care what they say. They have to find out eventually. I‘m gonna be fine, really.“ Out here, in the sun, he believes himself that. At night, he doesn‘t. The constant back-and-forth is the real terror in all of this.

„You think?“ Mike snakes an arm around Will‘s shoulders, and so does El from the other side. „You should see your new room. We‘ve already put in a bed, a desk, your stereo and all that. You‘re gonna love it.“

„_You _helped furnish a room for me?“ Will stifles a burst of laughter. „Will I have to check for bugs?“

„I‘m offended.“ Mike says. „But it really is awesome, right, El?“

„I think it‘s the prettiest room in the house.“ she says lightly. „With the window to the street because we thought you don‘t-“

„You‘re right. I don‘t want to stare into the woods all the time.“ Will‘s voice sounds too dark for his own liking. Mike squeezes him harder. El plants a kiss on his cheek. And Will grins. He doesn‘t smile like he used to during the last months. This fake expression, tight lips curved upward painfully. This is different; Will can feel it in every muscle of his face, and in a good way. It hurts, but just because all the muscles have been neglected for so long.

Somehow, for the rest of the afternoon, Will knows what he has to do. He doesn‘t try to sleep that night. No pressing his eyes shut in desperate hopes of drifting off, no wrapping a pillow around his head to block off the voices that come from within him. Will sits on his bed, which Charlie calls „fucking creepy“ before turning around to ignore it. He starts snoring soon after.

The alarm clock shows midnight. „You‘re not my mom.“ Will quietly but firmly tells the monstrosity in the middle of the room. „You‘re not her. My mom loved me.“ The creature stares blankly. The other two do the same. „And you‘re not my brother.“ Will goes on, unyielding gaze trained on the thing that looks like Jonathan. „My brother always had a choice, and he chose to fight. And I think he would‘ve fought the monster even if it hadn‘t been for me. And you...“ Finally, he turns to the rotting parody of Alex. „I have no idea why you‘re here. I hate you, and you died because you had to fuck that junkie. Not because of anything I did. I have no idea why you‘re even here.“

Will looks at all of them again. He takes in the black skin, the bruises, the maggots. These aren‘t the people he knew. These three were never alive. They were just conjured by Will‘s shattered mind out of thin air, but his mind is healing. And in a world where it‘s healing, there is no room for ghosts. They are persistent. They move in on him in a half-circle, until their knees bump against his bed. As though they could still scare Will.

But Will does what he has to do. He picks up the framed photo. He looks at it for the first time in the ethereal shimmer of the moon reflecting from the lake. He sees mom and Jonathan as what they really were, and god, he feels the warmth and love and protection he felt on the day when it was taken, camera propped up on a stack of books because they all wanted to be in the frame. Will tries to recall every detail of that day. The weather. What they had for breakfast - probably French Toast because he knows for a fact it was a Sunday.

And then, with a simple flick of his head, the beings are gone. Gone to never return. Will won‘t miss them. He was hoping to see her again the way she really was. To hear her voice again one final time. But the silence will have to do. After all, he has his memories.

* * *

Will comes home on a Friday - Hopper picks him up at ten in the morning sharp, so he has barely enough time to pack his bags and say goodbye to everyone. Some of these kids have been here almost as long as Will has, but no one is left from the original group. The ones Will got to sit with on his first morning for breakfast. They are all home, some have stayed in touch, others haven‘t. Mrs. Foster appreciates letters from former patients, but not all of them get through. That‘s a harsh but undeniable truth. Relapse is real.

As is tradition, after breakfast, Will is handed a card full of signatures and good wishes. He already knows he‘ll hold it dear, even if most of the acquaintances he made at this place are bound to be fleeting. In a town like Hawkins, perfectly middle-class and far away from the big cities, drugs don‘t exist. All this suffering, the sickness and the needles, they are so far away that it almost doesn‘t seem real. But it is real, and Will thinks it‘s important to be reminded of that. Because even in Hawkins, one could find a way to overdose.

There is something else he gets, this time from Mrs. Foster. „I‘ll know if you open it any sooner.“ she says with a wink as she hands him the sealed envelope addressed to him, with the words _‚Open on April 12th, 1987‘ _written on it in fine cursive. Exactly one year from now. Will stores the envelope safely in one of his bags and plans to put it in the bottom drawer of his desk later.

In the car, southbound on the Interstate with the engine humming comfortably in high gear, Will decides to tell Hopper about it to fill the silence. „I‘ve spoken to her a few times.“ Hopper returns. „She‘s a good woman, y‘know. Really cares for her kids. You owe it to her to be around when this letter is due. Don‘t you think?“

„I owe it to you too. And to Mike‘s mom, and-“

„And to your mother, kid. Forget about what became of her in the end. No, I mean, don‘t... don‘t let that change how you think about her.“

„No.“ Will says gravely. „I could never.“ And he means it. His mom wasn‘t the one who shoved him out in the cold, bleeding and hungry and drunk. She wasn‘t the one who almost broke his nose, or woke him with cold, skeletal hands clasped around his throat. His mom was the one who carried him to bed, scooted under the covers with him and didn‘t let go until he was long asleep. She was the one who proudly presented his Rainbow Ship to the world, who patched up his scraped knees and busted lips, who went to literal hell for him. _Who eventually lost herself after one final, devastating blow. _But unlike her, Will thinks he has found himself again. He believes he can be whole again.

The house Hopper bought is a place that screams for her. Will can feel her in the way it‘s furnished, as though Hopper has either paid her homage, or as though he was guided by her invisible hand. It‘s a place Will has seen a few times biking down the street with his bike. Another house like all the others in the fancier parts of Hawkins, two-story with a steeper roof than Will‘s old home. He never thought he‘d ever live in a house this big, but everything about it also feels immediately familiar. Wallpaper, carpets, dark woods.

There is a banner in the living room. Snacks and soda, and people. Mrs. Wheeler scoops Will in an unbreakable embrace. „Look at you.“ she croons. _„Look at you! _We‘re all so proud, Will. You made it!“

„I- I did, didn‘t I?“

The afternoon feels like a dream to him. Or a scene from a TV show, a happy ending where everyone falls into each other‘s arms and laughs as though nothing happened. The main character‘s sidekick ends the season with a quotable joke that will be remembered with nostalgia twenty, thirty years from now. Then, fade to black. All is well. But the world doesn‘t fade to black. It keeps on moving, and through all the hugs and all the praise, he has yet to find his place in it. There is a difference between being better and being fine.

„You bought Pepsi because you didn‘t want cans with ‚Coke‘ on it, didn‘t you?“ Will asks Mike with a grin later that night. Everyone is just getting ready to leave, and this is the first moment alone they got in a long while.

Mike rubs the back of his neck, flashing an uncomfortable smile. „Sort of was my mom‘s idea.“

„Does she know we got Coca Cola in rehab? There even was a vending machine.“

„We let her have her way, because why not. She spent days fretting over giving you a nice welcome party. Hey, Will?“

„Yeah?“

„One word and I‘ll stay the night, you know that. We could all-“

Will laughs wryly, shaking his head. „No offense, but I haven‘t spent a single night alone in weeks. I mean, I got along with my roommates, but privacy? Forget it. But I‘ll see you tomorrow, yeah?“

„And every day after that?“ Mike looks pleading now, his hands find Will‘s shoulders for a few seconds. Each of them have to dry a few tears with their sleeves. Will is going to shed a few more that night. He knows that when he drags himself upstairs to take a shower.

His room is a sight to behold. Larger than even the living room in his old home, furnished but still with space to spare. An impossibly wide bed, a brand new desk, a corner by the left window dedicated to the stereo - and his posters. Star Wars, X-Men, so many things he believed lost in Seattle are now here. Trophies from middle school science fairs, framed photos... El comes to his room before bed, and Will really, _really _tries to find the right words to describe what he is feeling - he fails, but she understands. She understands an awful lot of things.

* * *

It is both amazing and frightening at the same time how one day can blend into the next - not in the beginning, when things are both new and also familiar. But later, when Will doesn‘t stall for a second when asked his home address. When he bikes between school and home and his job at RadioShack on autopilot. Yeah, then the days really blend. So do the weeks, and then the months. Until one day in March, just a few days after his sixteenth birthday and a month after he starts shaving at least weekly, Will finds himself driving home from school instead of biking. In a crappy old AMC Hornet, ugly brown, dented and with three-on-the-tree, but still.

He is the weird kid among the weird kids of Hawkins High, the one who likes to drive out alone on Fridays to spend a night with his thoughts and a pack of smokes in the back of his car. Hopper trusts him. Will never misses a pill, never fails a test, forgets the smell and the taste of whiskey. People sometimes compliment him on his maturity. His boss praises the way he talks to customers. The reality is, Will just feels less joy than normal kids his age do. But it‘s fine, honestly.

And when it‘s not fine, when the past catches up and he wakes up thrashing and soaked, he either makes a can of coffee and waits for the break of dawn, or - on so many Saturday nights spent in Mike‘s basement - he falls asleep again, squished between friends next to stacks of pizza cartons. Like he would have years ago. As though he just went to hell and back, no big deal.

A very special day rolls around in the blink of an eye. One that Will has been fearing and looking forward to. His birthday pales in comparison, because being born really isn‘t an achievement, is it? It just happens to people, if they want it or not. But this day is different. „Are you sure you don‘t wanna tag along?“ Dustin asks him in the parking lot of Hawkins High.

„I‘m sure.“ Will smiles. „I‘m not much of a runner anyways. There‘s something I have to do today.“

The others, all of them except Lucas, scrutinize him with envious glares. Lucas has taken to drag the Party outside for, can you believe it, sports. Because he probably doesn‘t want to be the only one of them to suffer exhaustion and sore muscles in preparation of his career on law enforcement. They usually can‘t say no, have no way to wiggle themselves out of it, but Will gets a free pass for some things. He doesn‘t tell them what he is going to do, though. This is for himself and only for himself.

The engine starts on the first try, shocker, and Will takes off. The envelope has spent the day in his glove box, tugged away safely in a car that no one in their right mind would try to break into or steal. The sun is up, it‘s getting warmer; Soon, everyone will whip out their shorts, turn on their air conditioning and stock up on ice cream and cold drinks. A root beer float is about as close to beer as Will gets these days, and he really can‘t wait to have one. It‘s been too many cold months.

He quietly hums along to the radio on his way through town. Not one of his tapes, he‘s got to figure out how to get a cassette player installed in this thing first, but something meaningless and catchy by Cyndi Whatshername. There is no fence around the local cemetery, no gate or anything other than gravestones that would indicate what this patch of green actually is. Will parks by the curb, takes the envelope along with him. There are gravel paths, but he wanders astray slowly to pass by graves no one seems to be taking care of anymore. Will often does this. It‘s what these people down below deserve, he thinks. Someone should know their names.

Sometimes he wonders if they‘re going to put him in the ground in this place as well. If this cemetery will still exist when his time comes. And if, maybe, he‘ll want to be buried with someone else.

_Joyce Byers_  
_1948 - 1985_

_Jonathan Byers_  
_1967 - 1985_

For them, this is a good place to rest, he thinks. Together, because they didn‘t have anyone else to share eternity with. Will sits down in the damp grass in front of them, legs crossed, like he often does.

„H-Hey. It‘s me. I‘m here, like I promised. You know, I couldn‘t have picked a better day for this. I know, I know, I should probably at least try to get in shape, but Lucas is just too good. He‘ll probably complete his first marathon this year, so you can‘t really blame us others for being frustrated. I swear, I‘ll ditch the cigarettes this summer. I just gotta get Hopper to stop too, or else I‘ll be tempted.“ Will‘s fingers slide across the lighter in his pocket. He takes it out, clicks the lid open. „But I‘ll keep this, I think. For fireworks and stuff.“

He lets out a long sigh in preparation of what‘s next. „I told you about the letter I got from the head nurse, Mrs. Foster, right? And, well, today is the day. One year. I can‘t really believe it. It doesn‘t feel like it, but at the same time... I don‘t know, it all feels so far away already. You do too, and I‘m sorry, but I can‘t help it. I just figured I wanna be here when I open it. I think I know what she wanted to tell me, but I guess reading it is gonna feel good.“

Will methodically tears open the envelope right at the top to reveal a sheet of thick paper with artful handwriting in black ink on it. Right at the bottom, a bunch of signatures from the entire, or at least most of the staff. „Look, it‘s even handwritten.“ He breathes in and out again before he begins to read.

„_Dear William...“_

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've had this two months in the making, just adding a short snippet whenever I felt like it.


End file.
